


appreciation of a life well deserved

by apollos quiver (mintyah)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode 159, jon and daisy friendship, no beta we die like tim, soft fluffy nonsense tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22877080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintyah/pseuds/apollos%20quiver
Summary: Highland life suits Martin just fine. He thinks it might suit Jon even better.(A tentative telling of the happiness of Martin Blackwood.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 122





	appreciation of a life well deserved

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't intended to write Magnus fic or any fic at all in some time but i was in a hell of a slump today and just needed something to take my mind off homework and my original stuff. All i can think of lately is the Magnus Archives anyways.. so.. soft Martin loving hours it is!  
> This word doc. is titled "Can't write so we're de-stressing with fic i guess!" so thank you, Martin Blackwood, for being the softest, loveliest, young man, perfect for helping a stressed student write a lump of goo to chill and feel nice things :)

The sharp whistle of the kettle boiling fills the cottage jolting Martin out of his sleepy daydreaming state and back into motion, hurriedly piling biscuits on a plate. He hasn’t used a stovetop kettle in years and is still getting used to the loud screeching sound of it over the gentle bubble and click of the electric he keeps back home or the hiss of the one at the Institute. But even the loud whistle is part of the charm of this place, he ponders, stirring two sugars and a dash of milk into two floral chintz mugs (floral chintz? Daisy had some unexpected tastes to be sure). The charm of whistling kettles, windows with sweet blue shutters looking out to roiling green hills with specks of brown noting the hairy cows all about (coo’s Martin loved that. Coo’s!) an old stone fireplace, and hand knitted throws folded on pleasantly plump love seat cushions. But more than anything Martin has found lovely or charming since arriving at the cottage, nothing compares to the comfort of having one skinny, lightly greying archivist sprawled sleep warm and content under the mid-afternoon sun on those plump love seat cushions. Safe. Even if just for now. In this moment, safe for now is good enough for Martin.

Jon is stirring and rustling under one of those lovely knitted throws as Martin places the plate of biscuits (also floral chintz. Royal Winton. Blimey Daisy.) and one mug down on the wooden coffee table. He’s just turning back to grab his own mug when a warm hand clutches at his wrist and drags him back a ways.  
Jon is still splayed out before him looking snug and lovely under his throw, but his eyes are mostly open now, head tipped up towards Martin, all open and soft looking just after waking.

“Where re you goin?” His voice is slurred, grumbly, warm chocolate drizzled over a sleepy pout he can’t keep down.

“Just getting my own tea. Scooch up yeah? I’ll be back in a second.”

Jon lifts the blanket up over his head and wriggles a bit till he’s more or less upright, letting go of Martins wrist only when he spots the biscuits and is forced to make a terribly important biscuit decision.

“Alright, a second then.” Jon nibbles on a custard cream and gives him a fond look “Thank you, Martin.”

Martin isn’t sure if he’s being thanked for the tea and biscuits or something else entirely. All the same a wave of affection flows over him at Jon’s sleepy neediness and he wants to hold his face tight in his hands and pepper him with kisses. Later. Tea first, kisses later.

When Martin returns, mug in hand, Jon has properly risen and is still munching on his custard cream looking bemusedly at his mug

“Did Daisy look like a floral chintz person to you?”

Martin scoffs a little “Not a bit, honestly.”

“No,” Jon shakes his head and smiles gently “suppose it does fit in with her fondness for the Archers.”

“No!”

“Yes, Martin! I’ve listened to multiple episodes of the Archers due to Daisy’s dedicated interest. Not even my Gran listened to that rubbish!”

There is no sign of pain on Jon’s face, as though talking about Daisy like this, of her simple interests and silly little intricacies, eases something in him rather than hurts just now. Martin didn’t know Daisy, not really, not how Jon had come to know her. He had worried at first, but Jon was doing better than he’d thought, and getting to know her through Jon’s eyes, well it was soothing. It was nice.

After all the pain, the long hours of suffering and torment they’ve been through, Martin truly believes they deserve something nice. Even just for a little while.

So he reaches for a jammie dodger and settles in tight up against Jon’s side where he’s still radiating warmth and comfort from his nap. Jon’s bony arm lazily loops around his chest dropping crumbs in his wake and snuffles his face into Martins hair. It’s more than Martin had ever dared to dream of before. Jon’s arms around him, a place that feels like home, relative safety. Happiness. Martin didn’t think he could ever be this happy and now that he is, he almost doesn’t know what to do with the feeling.

Experience it in all its confusing glory probably. Bask in it. Really live for the first time in years.

Slumped as he is, Martin turns his face up to Jon to see that Jon is already looking down at him (the novelty of Jon looking down not wasted on him). Martin basks under his gaze and returns it with a thrilled one of his own. They’ve only been out of London a few days, but Jon is looking healthier than he has in months. Years, maybe. He’s been eating every meal Martin has put down in front of him, even though Martins never been much of a cook and mostly lived off of ready meals and take out the past few years. The point is he’s trying now, and Jon is lapping it up, humming happily over a bite of mash or groaning in pleasure at a successful pie. Martin isn’t sure if it’s because the food is actually good or if its because Jon hasn’t had a home cooked meal since his Gran passed. He likes it though, which is more than enough for Martin to keep trying. So Jon is eating, still skinny as a rake but isn’t looking so malnourished anymore, he’s been brushing his long hair out and hasn’t been letting it knot up in a ratty bun. The skin around his eyes is still lined but the tightness is gone and there’s a softness to the curve of his lips that Martin has never seen before now. He looks clean. He looks healthy. He looks so devastatingly happy looking down at Martin right now it’s all Martin can do to keep his hands to himself and not kiss him senseless.

Jon doesn’t have the same compunction, gently twisting his fingers in Martins hair, leaning down to bump their foreheads together.

“Martin…” Jon closes his eyes as he lets his voice trail off, breath puffing out over Martins lips.

Martins heart jumps. He keeps himself tight up against Jon and strains his arm out towards the coffee table to put his mug down. He’s lost track of Jon’s but he’s sure it’s fine (and if not, Jon will learn from the scald he’s bound to get if he knocks it over).

Jon’s eyes are still closed but his lips are so close Martin can feel how they turn up at Martins obvious tea saving motions. Martin is so endeared by the whole thing he almost forgets that he is in ripe position for kissing. He is though, optimal kissing position really. He figures it’s definitely later now. Kissing now, tea later.

So he curls his fingers around Jon’s jaw, leans the rest of the way up and continues to be mind-blowingly happy.


End file.
